


a deep sea diver with tides in your favour

by thesilverwitch (orphan_account)



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-08
Updated: 2015-09-08
Packaged: 2018-04-19 18:04:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4755953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/thesilverwitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dark and Brooding, as Bastian quickly names him, was talking to a girl at the start of the party. He’s now alone and staring at his plate as he plays with the zucchini leftovers, looking as bored as Bastian feels. With a quick glance around the room, Bastian spots the girl Dark and Brooding had been talking to in the arms of another guy at the table next to theirs, which leads him to make a decision that he may come to regret later.</p><p>With that said, a decision that he ‘may come to regret later’ describes at least half of all the decisions Bastian makes, so it’s not as if this one is special.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a deep sea diver with tides in your favour

Bastian’s cousin, Wolfgang, gets married on a lovely Friday afternoon in early September.

For a summer day, the weather is actually quite cool, with clear skies and a light breeze running through the air. Bastian wears his favorite three-piece suit in dark gray, as well as a deep blue tie that, according to Mario, brings out the blue in his eyes.

Now, it should be made clear that although Bastian loves a good opportunity to look dashing, he does not wish to attend cousin Wolfgang’s wedding. The reason why is simple: cousin Wolfgang is a huge dick.

He’s that guy who makes lots of comments at dinner on how today’s youth doesn’t know how to behave and that women should go back to their roles as housewives. For the past three years, he has bought everyone socks for Christmas, even though he can certainly afford better gifts if the money he spent on his flashy wedding is of any indication. 

Bastian does not like cousin Wolfgang. He has never liked cousin Wolfgang. When they were teenagers, they got into a fight during a summer holiday that ended with Bastian breaking Wolfgang’s nose and being sent home early by his disgruntled aunt. His mom brings up the story whenever she wants to make him feel bad about something, and Bastian plays along, pretending to feel guilty when, truthfully, he recalls Wolfgang’s crying expression with fondness.

If anyone deserves this treatment, it’s fucking Wolfgang. The last time he and Bastian spent time together, Wolfgang got mad at someone from crossing in line at the bar and then tried to set the guy’s car on _fire_ , running away and leaving Bastian and his brother behind when he was caught.

Dick.

The only reason Bastian is at his wedding is because his mom asked him to, citing something about mending broken bridges and forgetting the past. Bastian doesn’t care about doing any of that, but his momhad asked and he didn’t have it in him to refuse.

When he emailed Wolfgang his reply to the invitation, he hadn’t thought much about the whole deal. After all, it was just a wedding. How bad could it be?

The answer, he has found out, is extremely bad.

The wedding is ridiculous. Bastian wants to be nice about it, but he can’t, because other than the weather being pleasant, there’s pretty much nothing enjoyable about the whole afternoon. There are over five hundred guests packed in a room not big enough to contain five hundred fucking people, the ceremony takes over two hours and Bastian spends all of it next to Aunt Petra, who seems to have developed a chronic cough since the last time Bastian saw her.

More than two dozen doves are released when the happy couple leaves the church, but apparently no one remembered to tell the bird trainer how long the ceremony would be. When the poor birds come out of their cages, at least two fall on the ground and die and one flies into a wall. Bastian lets out a surprised laugh at how demented the whole thing is, then is glared at by everyone near him.

And yet, somehow, despite how goddamn awful the whole thing is, the ceremony isn’t even the worst part of the day.

The worst is what comes next when Bastian finds out who he is sat with during dinner.

Again, it bears repeating, cousin Wolfgang is a dick. He is a narcissistic, resentful dick, and it is by no chance of fate that he sits Bastian away from the rest of the family, next to a handful of strangers. To top it all off, the strangers are all couples disgustingly in love. Bastian spends most of the dinner glaring at his plate and texting Thomas as the people next to him eye fuck each other.

The last message Bastian gets before he switches off his phone is a simple _so?? threesomes are popular right now._

Why he’s even friends with Thomas is a mystery.

Bastian sighs. He is a sociable person, but being the third wheel to four different couples is not in his current ‘to do’ list and he doesn’t want to be in a threesome, thank you very much. Not right now, anyway.

At one point, his brother shows up at his table, laughs at his miserable figure for a solid two minutes and leaves without a word. If that bastard think he’s getting a decent birthday gift after this, he’s sorely mistaken.

Bastian is so lost in the self-pity that it’s only after the vegetable course has been served that he realizes there’s someone else at the table without a date. He has jet black hair and the sharpest pair of cheekbones Bastian has ever seen. That, plus the crisp black suit he’s wearing, gives him a ‘retired model who now owns a modeling agency that does money laundering on the side’ vibe.

Bastian watches a lot of crime shows, though, so who knows.

Dark and Brooding, as Bastian quickly names him, was talking to a girl at the start of the party. He’s now alone and staring at his plate as he plays with the zucchini leftovers, looking as bored as Bastian feels. With a quick glance around the room, Bastian spots the girl Dark and Brooding had been talking to in the arms of another guy at the table next to theirs, which leads him to make a decision that he may come to regret later.

With that said, a decision that he ‘may come to regret later’ describes at least half of all the decisions he makes, so it’s not as if this one is special.

“Hello,” Bastian says, slipping onto the vacant seat next to the guy. “Did you know there’s an open bar at this wedding?”

Dark and Brooding looks confused for a second before he grins. “No, I did not. They must have forgotten to include it in the two-page invite they sent out.”

“You got a real invite? All I got was an email,” Bastian replies. He’s as serious as he gets, but Dark and Brooding must assume he’s joking from the loud laugh he lets out.

“I’m Robert Lewandowski,” he says as he gives Bastian his hand to shake.

“Bastian Schweinsteiger,” and then, because Bastian figures there’s no point in beating around the bush, he asks, “So, you wanna get drunk?”

Robert laughs again, his eyes closing as a smile stretches across his face. “Definitely.”

Bastian instantly likes him. Everyone who is open about wanting to get shit-faced is someone whose company he can enjoy.

They ditch the rest of the dinner, which Bastian doesn’t regret at all. There’s only so many mini, pretentious dishes he can eat before he says enough is enough, zucchini doesn’t even taste good.

“Who are you with, bride or groom?” Robert asks him once they’ve found two good seats by the bar, close enough that getting their drinks is easy, but not so close that whoever sees them can immediately guess their motives.

“Technically with the groom, but the guy hates me, so it’s fairer to say I’m a lonesome ranger, venturing into the wild foray of mini-quiches and sparkling wine all by myself,” Bastian confesses.

“He hates you and he still invited you?” Robert asks, lifting an eyebrow in quiet appreciation.

Bastian shrugs. “He’s my cousin. He invited everyone else in the family, so he must have felt forced to invite me too. I’m pretty sure he thought I wasn’t coming, which might explain why he put me on a table full of strangers and the rest of my family on the other side of the room.”

“He might have done that on purpose because he hates you, though,” Robert points out. Bastian takes a long sip of his White Russian.

“Of course, but I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt,” Bastian replies, making them both laugh.

“Do you care to share why he hates you or is this something that will make me hate you, too?”

Bastian shakes his head. “We got into a fight when we were teenagers and I broke his nose. I never really apologized and don’t plan on doing it soon either.” Bastian watches Robert’s reaction, trying to gauge how the next part of his story will be received. In the end, he decides to go for it, consequences be damned. “The guy is a fucking dick. He doesn’t _deserve_ an apology. The only reason I came tonight was because my mother asked me to and I already regret it.”

Robert stares at him in silence for a minute, making Bastian cringe. Well, there goes his company for the night. It was a bad call on his behalf, anyway. He should have assumed anyone who came to Wolfgang’s wedding had at least some degree of affection for the guy. Bastian swallows the rest of his drink in one go, deciding it’s time for him to beat a hasty retreat.

He’s stopped just as he gets on his feet by a warm hand on his arm.

“You’re my new favorite person at this wedding,” Robert tells him, smiling at Bastian like Bastian has told him he knows the ending of _Inception_. “I’m here with the bride, who is my sister and who I love dearly, but who I’m also judging with all my heart for marrying a douchebag.”

Bastian immediately sits down again. “Your sister is marrying _him_?” he asks, scandalized and horrified all at once.

Robert swallows the rest of his drink and signals the waiter for another round for both of them. Bastian reaches out to pat his shoulder. And he thought he was unlucky.

“She thinks he’s charming. Charismatic. _Funny_.” Robert gags, but doesn’t stop talking. It seems that once he gets going, it’s impossible for him to stop. “I can’t tell if she’s suffering from Stockholm’s syndrome or if she just has terrible taste in men. Sometimes I wanna ask if she actually listens to the shit that comes out of the guy’s mouth. For god’s sake, he says shit like ‘marriage should only be between a man and a woman’ and he hates immigrants. Like, hello!” Robert waves a hand around his face. “I’m Polish. The woman you’re marrying is Polish. Her whole family is Polish. We are the people you so claim to hate.”

“Don’t forget how he hates the welfare system and poor people, but will spend two hundred euros on some fucking doves for his wedding,” Bastian says. Robert hides his face in his palms, only looking up when the waiter shows up with their drinks. 

“The doves.” Robert shakes his head. “How many died?” 

Bastian stops drinking for a second to answer. “Two,” he says, and then, “we should get some shots after this if you’re up for it.”

Robert gives him a look of mild disgust. “I’m Polish. Of course I’m up for it.”

“Just checking,” Bastian says, lifting his hands in surrender. Tonight has just taken a very pleasant twist and he plans to make the most of it.

After they get their shots, Bastian starts to lose track of the night.

He knows he spends a lot of time bitching about Wolfgang with Robert, that the drinks flow freely and liberally and that at some point his mother shows up and asks if he’s alright, forcing him to put on his best innocent expression. “I’m perfect, thank you,” he says. By his side, Robert giggles—fucking _giggles._

“Dude, you’re giggling. You did not strike me as the giggling type,” Bastian says.

“That’s because you told her you were ‘perfect’ while holding a tequila shot in one hand and a lemon wedge in the other. I’m just saying, I don’t think she believed you.”

Bastian looks at his mother, who is by the bar talking to his father. Every so often, they’ll glance at Bastian and look all worried. Bastian tries to smile, figures that won’t do him much good and throws back the tequila shot. 

“You know what you should do? You should go ask the bartender with the ponytail for a bottle of tequila, and then you and I should leave before we get a talk on alcohol and its many dangers.”

“What makes you think he’s going to give me a whole bottle of tequila?” Robert asks, giving him a curious look.

Bastian rolls his eyes. “The guy has been checking you out since the moment we sat here.”

“He has?” Robert smiles. “I hadn’t noticed.”

Bastian can’t tell if he’s being genuine or not, but he figures it doesn’t matter since Robert does Bastian asked and gets them a whole bottle of tequila with a wink and an easy smile.

“I used to do that all the time when I was in university,” Robert tells him conversationally as they make their way outside.

“What? Flirt with bartenders for free drinks?” Bastian asks.

“Flirt for free stuff in general. You never did it?”

Bastian laughs and shakes his head. “I think I was usually the one paying for the stuff.”

“Well tonight you ain’t paying a dime.” The way Robert grins at Bastian is just a shade shy of lewd.

“If I’d met you while I was still in university, I…” Bastian starts to say, trailing off mid-sentence. They’re outside now, walking side by side towards a small garden at the back of the hotel, away from everyone else. Robert has the bottle open, but he’s not drinking.

“You what?” Robert asks, eyes open wide in imitation of a toddler’s expression. He doesn’t play the innocent card well. It’s the cheekbones and the curve of his smile. Robert smiles like he has the world on the tip of his tongue and if he wanted to, he could swallow it whole.

Bastian is too old for this. He’s too old to go to weddings of people he hates, to slam down tequila shots and pretend he’s only twenty and there are no gray streaks in his hair. He’s too old to flirt with strangers who flirt back and look at him like they want to eat him up. He’s too old for all of it.

Then again, who died and made his responsible side the boss of him?

Bastian seizes the bottle from Robert’s hand and takes a large swig. He’s already come this far, he might as well go all the way and see where it takes him.

“You want some?” he asks, raising the bottle in Robert’s direction. He makes sure to hold eye contact the whole time.

“I’m good,” Robert replies. Bastian nods. That’s all he needs to hear before he puts the bottle on the ground, closes the space between them and kisses him.

Robert’s breath is heavy and stained with alcohol. His hands are quick to slip underneath Robert’s shirt, pulling it up so he can stroke the skin on Bastian’s covering ribs. As he does this, he moves one hand away from Bastian’s chest towards his hair, as if messing with Bastian’s clothes wasn’t enough, he has to mess with his entire appearance.

Bastian doesn’t care about any of it. He couldn’t begin to care in a million years. He is so far from caring he feels like he’s floating through space in another galaxy. If Robert wants to bite his neck and leave a hickey for everyone to see, Bastian will let him. If Robert wants to fuck against the wall, Bastian will let him. If Robert wants to pull him inside out and leave him broken and wanting, Bastian will let him.

Bastian kind of wants Robert to do all those things.

Kissing Robert ends up being like a game of pulling and pushing, giving and receiving. Robert bites Bastian’s lips, pushes Bastian against the wall and lets him take control of the kiss as he grinds their bodies together. There’s not much logic to it. There’s not much logic at all.

“The suit you’re wearing looks really good on you,” Bastian tells him halfway through a string of bites and kisses, “but it’d look a lot better on my floor.”

Robert laughs with both his hands on Bastian’s hair, ruining it past the point of mending. “That’s the worst line ever,” he says.

Bastian grins. “I know and I can assure you I’m going to be super smug about it when your suit eventually ends up on my floor.”

“A bit presumptuous, aren’t we?”

Bastian gropes Robert’s ass through his pants. “Nah,” he replies, glowing with lazy confidence. He may be old, but he hasn’t forgotten how to do this. Bastian kisses him again.

“Tell you what,” Robert says, breaking the kiss. “You can have my suit on your floor _if_ you take me inside for a dance.”

Bastian pauses. “Seriously?” he asks.

Robert grins. “Oh yes,” he says. There’s a whole layer of meaning behind his words that Bastian’s tipsy brain isn’t able to catch, but Bastian can’t bring himself to care.

If Robert wants to dance, then they will dance and they will dazzle the dancefloor.

Bastian is a _fantastic_ dancer.

“You are a terrible dancer,” is the first thing that comes out of Robert’s mouth after the first song they dance together. Something from the nineties that Bastian can’t even recognize.

“How dare you,” Bastian gasps. He sounds at least forty percent more scandalized than any sober person would.

Robert giggles, _again_ , and maybe he does have a thing for giggling. “Well, no, to be fair you’re a pretty decent dancer. If we were at a club right now with glitter everywhere and a sign saying ‘twinks drink for free’ at the bar, I would be super impressed by your dance moves. As it is, we’re at a wedding and all we’ve done so far is grind on each other, and let me tell you, there are many people looking at us right now and none of them seem to appreciate your dancing skills.”

For a second time that night, Bastian pauses and looks down at their bodies, realizing that they’re in a similar position to the one they were in less than five minutes ago. Only then, it was just the two of them outside, and now there’s Aunt Petra staring at them like they’ve just murdered her old dog Flintstone.

“This isn’t good,” Bastian thinks out loud.

“It’s actually kind of hilarious. Half the people here look like they want to kill us,” Robert replies. Bastian is torn between glaring at him and kissing him.

“You should have stopped me,” Bastian says. Robert’s grin is three-quarters of wicked and one-quarter amused.

“I got lost in the moment,” he replies, grinding their bodies together.

Bastian can’t read him at all. He finds that he doesn’t mind this as much as he could.

He does mind the staring, just the tiniest bit. Mostly because he knows his brother and Thomas struck some kind of deal between them last year. They now share embarrassing material on Bastian and make fun of him at all available opportunities. The chance that Tobias is filming him dance with Robert seems extremely high.

Thomas is evil and so is Tobias. Robert would probably love them if he met them.

Bastian has just decided it’s time they call a cab and go back to his apartment when none other than the man of the night, Mister Wolfgang Schweinsteiger, strolls up to him and taps him on the shoulder. Bastian slowly turns around to stare at his cousin. To say Wolfgang looks pissed is the understatement of the year. There’s steam coming out of Wolfgang’s ears and pure anger seeping from his pores.

Somewhere in the background, the sirens from Kill Bill start ringing.

“What do you two think you’re doing?” Wolfgang hisses.

The sarcastic part of Bastian’s brain replies for him on automatic. He really needs to start spending less time with Thomas.

“We’re dancing, couldn’t you tell?” 

“That is _not_ dancing,” Wolfgang whispers. The veins in his temples look like they’re about to pop.

Bastian could feel bad for him. He could also paint himself green, slap some leafs to his forehead and call himself a tree. Both options are as equally ridiculous, improbable and proof that just because you can do something, it doesn’t mean you should do it.

“It’s not your type of dancing, that’s for sure,” Bastian says. Maybe tonight’s the night Wolfgang gets his revenge and punches Bastian back.

“You two need to leave,” Wolfgang hisses, glaring at both Bastian and Robert. Ah, maybe not then.

“Fine,” Bastian hisses back. Before he can think better of it, he adds, “but this one is for the doves.”

In a sudden movement, Bastian escapes from Wolfgang’s reach, runs towards the center of the room and does what he’s been wanting to do since the night began -- he reaches one dirty, sweaty hand towards the perfect wedding cake, composed of three layers of chocolate and strawberry goodness, all yet to be cut, and he takes a handful.

People all around the room gasp. At least one person screams. It might be Robert’s sister. Bastian has no clue.

The next thing he knows there’s someone behind him. Bastian worries about getting his ass kicked until he notices it’s Robert, who is grinning as wide as his mouth allows him to. “You’re amazing,” he says as he reaches towards the cake and grabs a large handful as well.

If they make it home alive, Bastian may or may not have to marry him.

“We should run now,” Bastian whispers.

“Definitely,” Robert agrees.

They make it out of the wedding hall before anyone has a chance to grab them and yell at them. Once they’ve made it into a cab, Robert pretty much climbs into his lap and kisses him breathless.

In the end, talking to Robert was a decision Bastian didn't regret at all.


End file.
